


I'll Make You Holler You've Had Enough

by Lady_Ganesh



Series: Welcome to Miami [3]
Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fight Club - Freeform, Fight Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kane looks like a cop, so he has to play along when he gets to Hotwire. Even more so when the owner's son takes an interest.</p>
<p>Written for the "Haven't We Met Before?" theme at the 2013 Weiss vs. Saiyuki battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Make You Holler You've Had Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://emungere.livejournal.com/profile)[**emungere**](http://emungere.livejournal.com/) for betaing and for the inspiration of writing [Miamiverse](http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/313888.html); and of course much love to [](http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/profile)[**indelicateink**](http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/) for dreaming it up. Title is from [Rick James.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dNIQVYGXbM)

“This is fucking stupid,” Kane said. “I look like a cop.”

Ren bit his lower lip. “We’ll have to dress you differently.”

“Can’t you--” Kane didn’t even know what he was asking. _Can’t you get me out of this,_ maybe.

Ren shook his head. “Orders from above. I’m too old to be seen at Hotwire, I’m afraid.” There was more to it than that, Kane knew, but they didn’t talk about that. He was right, anyway.

“If they make me, what’ll they do?”

Ren shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll kill you,” he said, with admirable optimism. “They might ask you to fight.” He didn’t ask _are you comfortable with that._ He already knew the answer. “Ulysses thinks the local police are under his control. He’ll be more likely to find you amusing than threatening.”

It didn’t make Kane feel reassured. It just pissed him off. “So what the fuck will I wear that won’t make me look like a cop?”

“I’d suggest as little as possible,” Ren said wryly. “Jeans and shirt too tight to hide a wire under, perhaps some mascara. They’re less likely to think an officer will go in wearing makeup.”

“You know how to put on mascara?”

Ren’s grin didn’t make Kane feel any better at all.

 

In the end, Ren had helped dress him in the finest Vice had: an insanely tight black t-shirt, ripped jeans, mascara and eyeliner. Kane had drawn the line at lipstick. “I’ll just smear the hell out of it anyway.”

“Some men go for that,” Ren said cheerfully. Kane just rolled his eyes.

It didn’t feel as weird as it probably should have. The sound, though, that was maddening. The bass line shook, the drum machine pounded in his ears. He glanced up at the DJ booth. The DJ was wearing all white, with mirrored sunglasses that covered most of his face and a fedora pulled low. The booth was framed by a pair of huge wings. They looked real. Kane squinted up at the booth for a better look inside, trying to see if he could make the guy from the angle of his narrow chin.

“Hey.” The guy who’d just bumped into him looked weirdly familiar. “Nice wings, huh?” His body language read _come look at me instead._ “They’re real.”

Kane nodded. The guy was wearing even less than Kane, cutoff shorts that didn’t hide much and a ragged mesh shirt. Jake Savage: Kane recognized him now from the photos. But that wasn’t the cause of the nagging familiarity.

“C’mon,” Savage said. He had long hair that looked black in the disco lights. Could have been red or auburn, too. Hard to say. The surveillance photos were black and white. “Let’s dance.” Jake didn’t want Kane staring too closely at that DJ booth. Interesting.

Kane had to look like he wasn’t a cop. Time to dance. Savage was lithe and lean and he clearly liked being looked at, no matter what his long game was. He pushed up against Kane after the second song, way too close. Kane’s lip wanted to snarl. He kept dancing.

“C’mon, we’ll grab a drink,” Savage said, about the time Kane was starting to wonder how much stamina the guy had. He grabbed Kane by the hand and dragged him over to the bar. “What you want?”

“Beer,” Kane said, because he could handle a beer or two before he really felt the drag on his reflexes.

Savage yelled something at the bartender. “...not that cheap shit, either.”

The bartender handed over a glass of dark beer and something with a girly umbrella. Savage took a long drink and eyed Kane over. Kane figured the guy had guessed he was a cop right at the start. The only question was what he was going to do now. He’d heard the fighters were screened, but Jake was Ulysses’ pet; he could probably get what he wanted, if he wanted Kane to fight. The other possibility was doing a bump in the men’s room.

Kane didn’t even know which one he’d rather be stuck with. He hated cocaine, but stripping down and fucking in public wasn't his idea of a party either.

"Come on," he said. "You wanna fight?" Jake was evaluating him, trying very, very hard not to look like he was.

Kane smiled and tried to make it look easy and casual. "What makes you think I can fight?"

Jake took his bicep and squeezed. "Arms like this, you ought to be able to do something."

"Should I be flattered?"

"Like you weren't checking me out," Jake said, all but leering at him. "Come on. It's fun. Winner gets a hundred bucks. Even if you lose, you get a drink on the house."

Kane twisted his mouth like he was thinking it over. "What kind of drink?"

"Top shelf, if you want. And where else are you gonna make a hundred bucks in half an hour?"

A hundred bucks wasn't anything to sneeze at, if he'd been an ordinary guy looking to get laid anyway. He looked at the ring. The smell of sweat and semen lingered, even though no one was fighting yet.

"When does it start?"

Jake glanced at his Rolex. "Ten minutes. You want in?"

"Who'm I fighting?"

Jake flashed him a million-dollar grin. "Me."

_Well, shit,_ Kane thought, as Jake disappeared into the crowd.

 

The back room still throbbed with the sound of the music in the club. "You drop all your shit into the box," Jake said. "We're up first. Strip down to your boxers--" He glanced over at Kane -- "Yeah, you're not wearing any, whatever. You can use a pair of mine if you want or just stay commando. And lube up."

Kane shrugged and stuffed his jeans into the box, feeling relieved he'd remembered to leave his driver's license in the apartment. If they went through his wallet, they'd only find a handful of bills. He slicked his fingers with lube and worked them in. It was quite possibly the least sexy thing he'd ever done in his life, but it was done quickly enough. He wiped his hand off on the monogrammed towels. He glanced at the boxers Jake had offered; they were shiny and red. Not a fucking chance. "I'm good," he said.

"Jewelry too," Jake said.

Kane closed his hand over his pendant.

"It's cool," Jake said. "I'm fighting. They won't touch any of the shit in here. Nobody wants to piss Dad off."

"Okay," he said, and undid the clasp.

"I promise," Jake said. He'd pushed his long red hair back, but it was still loose around his shoulders. "The ref will tell you the rules when you're out there. 'S pretty simple. No hair pulling, don't go for anybody's eyes. Don't knee anybody in the balls. Start when the bell rings, stop when it rings again. Stop if somebody goes limp, but that hardly ever happens, they'll yield first." He flashed a confident grin at Kane, and that made him more oddly familiar than ever. "I'm pretty good. So I hope you don't mind bottoming."

Kane just smirked back. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

Jake barked out a laugh. "Let's go. They're waiting for me."

Kane followed him back out to the ring. The club had felt hot when he first came in, thanks to the press of bodies on the dance floor, but the air conditioning was up high, and he was freezing his balls off now. The music was bruisingly loud, throbbing bass, steady pound of a drum machine. The referee talked, but it was impossible to hear him. He realized why Jake had told him the rules in advance.

The bell sounded so loudly the whole club shook. Kane saw, rather than heard, the ref say "Go," and saw Jake move in his peripheral vision.

Jake Savage was fast, but not as fast as Kane, and Kane struck first, a simple, hard punch to Jake's stomach. Jake grimaced, but his abs were tight, and he took the punch well enough. Kane dodged his counterpunch easily, a sad attempt at a left hook. But Jake had kicked at him, as well, and they both went down, as the music throbbed and the crowd cheered.

His ears adjusted to the screaming and noise as they fought, grappling like animals, Kane trying to figure out Jake's technique, if he even had one. Pure street fighter, rough and raw, but not completely untalented. His fingers dug into Kane's shoulders, trying to pin him, to get any purchase at all. _Good luck with that,_ Kane thought grimly, slipping through Jake's grasp, trying to keep his balance on the surface of the ring, which was already getting wet with lube and sweat. Jake said something that he couldn't have heard even if he was trying to. Kane reached back, took a breath, and slammed his fist into Jake's chin. Jake's eyes went wide as his head snapped back.

That was it. Jake had expected him to fight like a cop. Kane felt the grin spreading over his face. He thwacked Jake in the temple with his elbow and pushed his knee into Jake's side, and watched with pleasure as Jake hissed out breath. Kane pushed him down, one hand on his shoulder, holding the other back for the next punch, his knee pressed solidly into Jake's muscular stomach. It felt good. Adrenalin was sparking in his body and a good amount of it had traveled down to his dick. At least he'd be able to put on a show.

Jake looked up at him, wide eyes, pretty face, calculating again. Yield or keep fighting? He obviously wanted to keep fighting, but he was still working to keep Kane away from the DJ booth. "Yeah," Jake said. "I yield. Do it."

Kane lifted his knee up, letting Jake up just enough to flip him over. The crowd noise changed; their mood must have been moving from violence to sex. He pulled Jake up to his hands and knees. Jake said something, some kind of complaint that didn't fucking matter. It was better like this; he couldn't see his mouth moving and there wasn't that nagging familiarity he felt when he saw Jake's face. Jake pulled his own briefs down, ready, waiting.

He didn't bother with any further prep, just slid into Jake, sure and steady. The crowd was even quieter now. The music still filled Kane’s ears, and he felt more than heard Jake grunting beneath him. His breath was coming hard and fast, and it was easier than he’d thought it would be to lose himself to this, the pulsing beat, Jake’s hot, muscular body underneath him. He wondered if he could make Jake come without touching him at all, what Jake liked, what he wanted. Had this just been an offer to keep Kane distracted? Or was there something more?

His fingers dug hard into Jake’s hips, hard enough to bruise, and Jake pushed back against him. The music changed, faster rhythm, and Jake started laughing. Rick James. Kane glanced up at the DJ. He’d stepped back just a little from the platform and was watching them both, his lips pursed. He adjusted the mirrored sunglasses, and Kane caught the side of his face in the light. _Got you, you bastard,_ he thought, and felt himself tipping over the edge, coming hard and fast.

Had Jake finished? He didn’t even give a shit. The desire had rushed out of him with his orgasm, and all he wanted to do was get his clothes on get the hell out of there. He pulled out, got to his feet. Jake had grabbed a towel from the ref and was cleaning himself off. He _had_ come. Huh.

“Come on,” Jake yelled into his ear. “It’s cold as fuck.” He took Kane by the arm and dragged him back into the back room.

The necklace was there, just as Jake had promised. Kane put it back on.

“You did good out there,” Jake said. “Any time you want to come back and fight, you got it.”

Kane grabbed his jeans. “What about the money?”

“Bartender’s got it with your drink. Easiest if you grab it from Tim, he’s the tall guy who’s right next to the ring.”

Kane nodded and pulled his shirt on.

“Seriously,” Jake said. “You come in again, you ask for me. Got it?” He grinned, and _fuck,_ why was that smile so familiar?

“Got it,” Kane said. “Thanks.”

Jake disappeared, presumably to the men’s room, and Kane wound his way back to the bartender, got his free drink (top shelf scotch, rocks) and five twenty-dollar bills that were slick with sweat and coke.

He glanced back up again at the DJ booth before he left. The man in white was still up there, glowing between those huge fucking wings, like the darkest fallen angel.

He’d gotten what he came for. That would have to be enough.


End file.
